Those were the last things Atticus wanted to happen. In fact, it wasn't even on the list; he didn't want it to ever happen.
'It must be my body's way of warning me about the consequences of overusing my will,' Atticus surmised. He would be a fool not to understand what was happening. And it went without saying that Atticus wanted none of those scenes to happen, not in a million years.
'Message gotten loud and clear.'
Atticus focused on calming his state of mind, repeating those words constantly, and after a few moments that seemed like a decade to him, Atticus's real eyes flickered open, his form stirring slightly.
His gaze was instantly met with a multitude of Stalactites hanging from the ceiling.
'Where am I?'
Atticus's body stirred, using his hand as support to sit up straight.
"Fuck."